In memory of Madeline Yale Wynne

adeUne Y^le Slynne

LAWRENCE J. GUTTER

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THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
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IN MEMORY OF

MADELINE YALE WYNNE

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Digitized by the Internet Archive

in 2010 with funding from

CARL!: Consortium of Academic and Research Libraries in Illinois

http://www.archive.org/details/inmemoryofmadeliOOIawr

No brief phrase can possibly define
the beautiful character and pres-
ence of Madeline Wynne. She was pecu-
liarly ethereal without a hint of detachment
from the tangible world by which she was
surrounded, and which she loved for every-
thing in it that was good and fair, or
that rightfully called for understanding
or sympathy.

To her, life, all life, was unfailingly real

and earnest, and even poignant. She saw

everything with a beautifying and poetic

vision, and so reflected it to others. She

[3]

was one of the most joyous souls I ever came
in touch with, and yet saw everything true.
She did not merely prefer the bright side of
things. Most fittingly she might have borne
the name of Cynthia, for unceasingly she
caught the sunlight of truth on her own
heart, in her own face ; and, casting it back
on life's darker aspects, illuminated them
with hope and joy.

Then, too, her rare intelligence and her
human sympathies shone as brightly as
her joy, as her love of truth, as her discrim-
inative perception of beauty. One might
say that these five graces held constant revel
in her soul, interdependent and inseparable.
None who ever truly knew her can look to
see her place filled.

G. W. CABLE

[4]

II

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH

[The following paragraphs have been arranged
from material, in print or in manuscript, contrib-
uted by members of Mrs. Wynne's own intimate
circle : Philip Henry Wynne, a son ; Miss A. C.
Putnam, a life-long friend and associate; Mrs.
Elia W. Peattie, writing in the Chicago Tribune,
and others.]

MADELINE YALE WYNNE
was born at Newport, Herkimer
County, New York, on September 25, 1847,
and died at Asheville, North Carolina, on
January 4, 191 8.

[5]

Her father, widely known as the inventor
of the Yale lock, was primarily a man of
artistic aptitudes and achievements, and
many of his daughter's earlier hours were
spent In his garden-studio at Newport. Her
mother was of the old New England family
of Brooks ; she carried on the traditions of
culture proper to her origin, and was her-
self one of the teachers In that "crescent"
school at Eagleswood, New Jersey, which
Madeline and her brothers attended.

The definite basis of Mrs. Wynne's varied
and scintlllant artistic career was laid In
Boston, where she studied painting at the
Art Museum and taught drawing for sev-
eral years. Later she studied at the Art
Students' League In New York, under
Walter Shirlaw, and still later In Europe.
"Both as artist and teacher of art," says
[6]

Miss Putnam, *'she was an Inspiration to
a vast number of friends, and to many a
struggling student."

When business called Mr. Julian Yale to
Chicago, he was soon joined by his mother
and sister, and they established themselves
in the pleasant house at No. 9 Ritchie Place,
which for many years was a Mecca for true
lovers of art and literature, whether these
were presented in a vestment of wit or of
philosophy. Here it was that Mrs. Yale and
Mrs. Wynne collaborated to form a salon
of real intellectual interest; here, too, Made-
line and her brother wrought together in the
unique and fascinating workshop for silver-
smithing and jewelry-setting, the fame of
which spread so far. As says her son, "Her
artistic feeling perhaps found Its truest ex-
pression in designing and making hand-
[7]

wrought jewelry and other decorations, for
which she had a notably bold and happy
inspiration."

It was while living in this same house that
Mrs. Wynne definitely turned her attention
to literary expression. Her most noteworthy
production at that time was the short story
called "The Little Room." This title was
gladly appropriated by a group of painters,
sculptors, writers, musicians, architects, and
other art workers which was forming in
Chicago at the time of the World's Co-
lumbian Exposition. Their little organi-
zation, still meeting in the Fine Arts Build-
ing, has recently celebrated its twenty-fifth
anniversary.

Mrs. Wynne's summers had been spent,
for many years, at Deerfield, Massachu-
setts, in the historic "Old Manse"; and
[8]

later she made a winter home for herself
in Tryon, North Carolina. In both places
she exercised her own artistic gifts and
directed those of others. It was largely
her enthusiasm and energy that brought
about the revival and organization of the
Deerfield Crafts, to which those of other
towns soon looked for Inspiration and
guidance. In Tryon she took a leading part
In the formation of the Musical and Dra-
matic Clubs, and, stimulated by her sugges-
tive and encouraging criticisms, the latter
has presented not only a number of plays
by Synge, Lady Gregory, and others, but
also a very beautiful play which was drama-
tized by Mrs. Wynne from one of her own
stories and given under her direction. To
the Lanier Club of Tryon, a literary club
with a wide membership, and one addressed
[9]

at various times by many distinguished
people, Mrs. Wynne never failed to give
her inspiring cooperation. Mrs. Jean Stans-
bury Holden, a warm friend and fellow-
member, tells us that "she was the life and
sparkle of the Club . . . always buoyant
and bubbling, but never trifling." Hers was
the great gift of imagination which is essen-
tial to the truest sympathy. " Mrs. Wynne
has the happy faculty of always saying
the right thing," said a friend. "Yes,"
answered Dr. Emerson, "because she always
thinks the right thing."

In the words of her son, Madeline Wynne
was "a woman of many and various gifts,
a spirit brilliant and rare. To her friends —
and few people had so many friends — the
greatest of her many successes was in the art

Ot livmg. HENRY B. FULLER

[10]

Ill

CHARM, instantly recognized but
never satisfactorily defined, found
Its perfect embodiment in Madeline Yale
Wynne. Her presence diffused a magnetic
quality, a subtle blending of surprise, de-
light, and sympathy that instantly made her
the center of whatever circle she entered.

Rodin once said that each art Is key to
every other art. This was strikingly true
in Mrs. Wynne's case, for she excelled in
all arts.

From her mother she inherited imagina-
tion, appreciation, enthusiasm; from her
father, who gave the Yale lock to the
[II]

world, Invention and skill. Her brother,
Julian Yale, In an active business life turned
for recreation to the workshop his sister
shared, using the same tools and forge and
giving a magic touch to each creation of
that busy work-bench.

Mrs. Wynne's metal work still keeps un-
challenged place for beauty and originality.
She could not do a commonplace thing and
she never repeated herself. Her fresh spirit
acted and reacted on vanquished metals —
copper, silver, gold — In graceful curves and
novel lines. Stones were encircled, crystals
suspended, amber enfolded in coils, rings,
and chains that send us to the woods to find
their lovely counterparts, since histories of
art do not reveal them.

Whatever she touched was baptized with
her originality. Her stories have a quality

[12]

all their own — mysterious, imaginative, ex-
citing; leaving the reader with a passionate
desire to know the outcome — never even
remotely suggested. Her water-colors are
exquisite, and seldom have been rivaled In
giving the spirit of the woods. Her oil
paintings are distinguished, often touched
with the weird mystery of her stories. She
worked with equal facility with brush,
hammer, carving-tools, and burning-irons,
reaching her goal through whatever medium
was at hand, and always suffusing it with
the pure and exquisite quality of charm.
Her Intense love of color, her joy In rich
hues and unusual combinations, doubtless
revealed depths and gradations hidden from
our eyes though multiplied to hers.

She understood and loved music, modern
as well as classic; and though she gave it
[13]

little attention, she played both violin and
piano enough to add to home pleasure for
herself and her friends.

Taste, another elusive quality, never
failed her. It appeared In every corner of
her home, pervading work as well as play.
Mrs. Wynne and her mother put all house-
hold tasks Into the class of arts, where they
belong. Whatever came from their sunny
kitchen was flavored with ladyhood, a cull-
nary prize that schools do not give.

Taste showed Itself again In the Individ-
uality of her dress. She saw possibilities In
fragments of unusual fabrics, and her skill
easily united the practical with the artistic.
Given needlewomen's tools, she made what-
ever she needed or fancied, her clever hands
often evolving trimming and decoration as
well as garment. Here, as usual, she worked
[14]

with magic rapidity, and achieved charming
effects with simple materials.

She was interested in philanthropy, and
her sturdy common sense kept balance be-
tween conflicting issues. Problems were
often discussed at the Wednesday morning
meetings of that delightful club, "The
Neighbors." Limited to six members, with
Mrs. Wynne as hostess and Mrs. Yale as
leader, the home on Ritchie Place, in Chi-
cago, became a little school of cheerful
philosophy and a maker of delightful
memories.

Mrs. Wynne's social gifts were also
elusive. Her sense of humor appeared in
written and spoken words, in the merry
twinkle of her eyes. In voice and smile. In
sadness as in mirth she had an adorable
quality. Intangible, yet lingering In every
[15]

dear thought of her. There was something
akin to the elfin — gay, fairy-like, beguiling
into paths of joy. An enchanting playfel-
low, she readily lent herself to the ridiculous
for frolic's sake; yet, In sorrow, words
were not needed to tell the sympathy that
filled her lovely eyes and trembled on her
lips. Hers was a nameless type of beauty,
bringing joy with her appearance, and hap-
piness In sitting with her beside the fire.
Of all her gifts the rarest was her friend-
ship, for she was true, sincere, faithful,
appreciative of duties as well as privileges
in friendship, and always so kind that she
left nothing to regret.

I linger over many lovely attributes

vainly trying to name her supreme gift.

Each was touched with the fire of genius

and the enchantment of mystery. Her world

[i6]

was her own. Friends entered here and
there, but not one walked the full length
of her corridors or saw all the pictures on
her walls. For such a nature Is Isolated by
the profusion of Its endowments, by the
depths of Its penetration, by the heights of
its experiences.

Now, having written, there comes a
baffled sense that the best Is still unsaid,
for her chief legacy to those who love her
cannot be put Into words — It Is the starry
memory that lights the name of Madeline
Yale Wynne.

LYDIA AVERY COONLEY WARD

[17]

IV

IT was back in the time of the World's
Fair that we first knew Mrs. Wynne.
She had come from Deerfield and Boston
to keep house for her brother, Julian Yale,
at 9 Ritchie Place, and Chicago was new
to her.

She brought into it an atmosphere of
color, of intimate artistic life, where Vene-
tian beads, in hitherto unimagined quanti-
ties and richness, blended with strange bits
of embroidery; and where copper trays,
iridescent with bold experiments in decora-
tion, bore odd bits of hand-wrought metal
— an atmosphere where a winter's sketch-
[i8]

ing in Algiers, a season of study in Venice
or Florence, was all a part of the scheme of
life, and might come again at any time.
With this went a personality as rich, as
vivid as her experiences. Busy with her own
work as she was — for she worked daily In
her "shop" at the top of the house, Its great
window looking out upon Lake Michigan,
over the lovely jewelry and silverware that
are so warmly cherished by their present
owners — she always had time to listen, to
give counsel or help, or, just by being her-
self, to make one realize a larger world and
point of view than one had brought to her.
She never saved herself for a larger audi-
ence. You got her very best, because she
could give no less.

Her brother's personality, too, was part
of the unique charm of the little household.
[19]

The metal work, while not a profession with
him, was his constant amusement, and al-
most every evening he wrought at his bench
in his sister's studio. Sometimes callers,
sitting in the square hall below, would be
startled to see a spoon or a pitcher descend-
ing by a thread, to be seen and appreciated,
and then perhaps withdrawn again. The
jewelry of his and of her own creation
Mrs. Wynne wore, casually, until it was
sold, and it was always beautiful on her
because she so completely dominated It.
She was much more brilliant than any arbi-
trary arrangement of opals or enamels, and
when she wore them, the jewels, on her,
slipped into their proper place in a decora-
tive scheme.

Mrs. Wynne enjoyed social life In her
free hours, and often dined with us, alone

[20]

or with other guests. We were always sure
of the success of any party if she were to be
there.

There came many sorrows, illnesses, and
anxieties into her life. She never dwelt
upon them nor seemed to resent them — why
should she be spared the common lot? —
neither did she abnormally keep them to
herself, but human-heartedly shared with
you her sorrows and her joys. Her brother's
health was failing for some time before his
sudden death. She knew that the end might
come at any time, and her ceaseless care for
him, given with a light touch, as if she were
doing nothing, was wonderful.

After his death, the home at 9 Ritchie

Place was given up, and my close contact

with her ceased. But she was a continuing

presence and stimulus in my life. Her

[21]

letters, infrequent as they were, and her
visits, all too few, kept our places in each
other's lives; and I associate her always
with two poems which were often on her
lips, Emerson's "Forerunners" and Blake's
"Opportunity":

"He who bends to himself a joy,
Does the winged life destroy ;
But he who kisses the joy as it flies,
Lives in eternity's sunrise."

She gave freely of herself to all with
whom she came in contact, and no one met
her, even casually, who did not retain a
vivid impression of her gracious, "generous-
seeking "personality. She was so much more
than the sum of all her varied gifts — a
beautiful woman, with singular, exceptional
charm of voice, manner, gesture; artist,
craftsman, unique story-teller, writer of

[22]

prose and poetry (too little known) ; lov-
ing daughter, sister, mother, and most satis-
fying friend. To feel that you were counted
among those whom she loved, gave you a
value In your own eyes.

ELIZABETH HEAD GATES

[23]

To know Mrs. Wynne was to become
the happier for that knowledge and
for each memory of her.

Rarely sensitive to all beauty in nature
and in art, with still rarer ability to capture
and transmit impressions into expression,
she was a constant conveyer to others from
the richness of her own experience.

Sharing was her joy. The fountain of
her own resources for spiritual quickening
knew no diminution, because continually
drawn upon for the refreshment of the
weary, sad, or dull.

[24]

We are glad and grateful for the artistry
of her skilful hands, for the enduring
beauty of her printed words, which recall
the charm of her voice and grace of manner.

In the unspeakable privilege of having
shared In her abundant giving of herself
for companionship, unique In quality, we
have a blessing which cannot be taken away
while memory lasts.

MARY H. WILMARTH

[25]

VI

MEETING her for the first time,
It was her gracious hospitality of
soul that Impressed one. Her faith In the
possibilities, rather the potentialities, of
those she met called forth a responsive
desire to meet her expectations.

Her rarely gifted mind at once betrayed
Itself In her conversation, which was ever
embroidered by her charming fancy and
her kindly wit.

She was a passionate lover of beauty, not
alone of form and color, but of the spirit
and of a fine conduct In the affairs of life.
[26]

With all her gifts, it was in the art of
living that she excelled, and by her own
life taught many another how life may be
dignified and ennobled.

Hers was the attitude of expectancy, and
when, for her, the last barrier fell away,
surely it was with a glad heart and hasting
feet that she pressed forward to the new
experiences awaiting her — our radiant,
"gallant" Madeline!

ISADORE P. TAYLOR

[27]

VII

MRS. WYNNE could not be Indif-
ferent to any form of art. She
played the violin well, painted In both oils
and water-colors, was distinguished as a
gold and silversmith, and could turn her
needle to account like a lady of mediaeval
times. She wrote delightfully but not copi-
ously. As a gardener she was fortunate
Indeed. Beautiful things grew, It seemed,
at her suggestion.

To tell what she has done, however, In no
way conveys what she was. She entered a
new neighborhood only to give It fresh vltal-
[28]

ity and to open up the minds and hearts of
her neighbors. Physically she was rarely
beautiful, delicate as fine glass and luminous
with the spirit. Her house became, in spite
of her quietness, a salon wherever she lived,
and her loss will be felt by many persons
in many places. But she was of those whose
influence continues like the overtones of a
beautiful bell. Identified all her life with
beauty and ideals of brotherhood, the mem-
ory of her is in itself a great possession.

ELIA W. PEATTIE

[29]

M'

VIII

RS. WYNNE usually passed the
summer months at Deerfield, and
"home" was to her always the old manse
in Deerfield Street. It was natural enough,
then, that much of her artistic thought
and initiative should be lavished upon her
"home town."

She was president of the Deerfield Indus-
tries, and gave invaluable help each year
in maintaining Its standard of excellence,
serving on the Jury, and giving unsparingly
of her efficiency and artistic skill to the
service of its interests, especially in the ar-
[30]

rangements for an Annual Fair at which
triumphs of basketry, embroidery, jewelry,
pottery, and tapestry are sold, and to which
thousands make pilgrimage. The gratitude
of this Society is feelingly expressed in the
following Resolutions :

"We, members of the Deerfield Industries,
wish to express our deep sorrow and feeling of
loss for the death of our President and friend,
Mrs. Madeline Yale Wynne. She has, from the
first, been a mainstay of our organization and a
personal help to each one of us. Her own skill
as a craftswoman, and her enthusiasm and tact In
directing the efforts of the less skilled, went far
toward gaining for the Society its first recognition.
For years she was unsparing of her time and
strength during her short vacations here. Her
jury work was more than selection. It was advice
and constructive criticism, a stimulating help to
all who received it.

"So, as a Society and as individuals, we wish
to record our gratitude and love and pleasant

[31]

memories of her, and we direct our secretary to
make such record, and to send our greetings and
our sympathy to Miss Annie C. Putnam, whose
name is joined in our minds and hearts to
Mrs. Wynne's, for they served us together."

[32]

IX

l^lf ^HE originality, charm, and wide
J[ scope of Mrs. Wynne's artistic ac-
tivities may be gathered from almost any
one of the present pages; they included
silversmithing, enameling, painting of por-
traits, landscapes and Imaginative subjects,
basket weaving, free verse, short-story
writing, music, embroidery. Her paintings
show a vigorous Imagination and a sensitive
color sense. In one of these, now in Wash-
ington, we have an old fireplace, to which
an ancient, ghostly woman returns to tend
its immemorial fire. In another, called "A
Group of Three," the "three" are trees,
[33]

until on a closer look one of them becomes
a woman, a sibyl. Or, take a triumphant
adventure In carving and pyrography. A
linen chest for an Easter bride Is thus de-
scribed: "Outwardly it is rich and dark — a
severe design carried out In bold relief, with
burning-Iron, carving tools, and paint brush.
But the lid, when lifted, flashes from Its
inner surface a great cluster of white lilies
against the dazzling rays of the rising sun —
all in relief against a sky-blue background.
Such were the Inspirations that responded
readily to her call."

Other valuable glimpses of Mrs. Wynne's
talents and methods are given by Dr. Ed-
ward W. Emerson, of Concord, Massa-
chusetts :

"Of certain travels In Italy and Algiers
she made a condensed memento in a sort
[34]

FROM THE PHOTO OF ANOTHER BRIDE S-CHEST,
**THE GARDEN OF HEARTS," NOW IN ENGLAND

of hieroglyphic embroidery. This was in
sampler form, worked in native silks, and
very beautiful in design and color. [These
samplers were subsequently photographed
and copies distributed among Mrs. Wynne's
friends.] A collection of jewels, set curi-
ously by her in rings and pendants, stir the
Imagination even more than they please
the eye. . . . Once when I was the guest of
Mrs. Wynne and her brother at dinner,
my hosts produced neither cards nor cigars
after dinner ; but Instead we went up to their
workshop, where they melted a handful of
silver dollars in a crucible, and under my
eyes seemed almost to thumb them into
beautiful forms. . . . Madeline Wynne be-
longed to that blest class, the Illuminators,
so delicate were her perceptions and her
sympathies."

[35]

X

IN her literary work, Mrs. Wynne ex-
pressed the two contrasted sides of
New England life and character : the dusky,
mystical side, as in "The Little Room";
and the racy, broad-sunlight side, as in
"Si Briggs Talks." "The Litde Room"
was first imagined and related at one of
the Deerfield "ghost parties," and was often
recited subsequently in Chicago. It is the
tale of a small anteroom in a farmhouse —
a room now existent, now non-existent;
visible to some, invisible to others : a classic
of psychological fiction. A sequel devised
[36]

a few years later, at earnest request, In-
geniously made the problem more problem-
atical than ever. "The Little Room" was
finally reduced to print for publication In
Chicago, between covers of Mrs. Wynne's
own designing; and It was afterwards
selected as one of a group of short stories,
"Told at Dusk," which William Dean
Howells collected for the Harpers. Mrs.
Wynne, answering the request for permis-
sion to use her story In this way, said that
she "should be happy to give them the lease
of 'The LIttleRoom.' " "SIBrlggs Talks,"
published In 191 7, In Boston, Is a collection
of New England stories, or rather anec-
dotes, cast into a whimsical free-verse form ;
they are of a pungency peculiarly Yankee —
one or two of them came directly to Mrs.
Wynne from James Russell Lowell — and
[37]

all have a flavor suggestive of "The Biglow
Papers."

Mr. Howells's sympathetic appreciation
of both these books Is given In the following
words :

"It seems to me that she expressed the
mystical and the grotesque of the New Eng-
land temperament, as no one else quite has,
In 'The Little Room' and In 'SI Briggs.'
We knew the former years ago, and It
seems to me as If we had known the latter
always ; we read It to ourselves and to each
other, and to every one we found fit. Only
a few weeks ago we read It again In a copy
which we were sending to an English soldier
In Jerusalem. I cannot think of any author
who has written so little with such spacious
effect on the reader's mind. Her rare gift,
in Its quality and employment, was hers and
hers alone."

[38]

XI

AMONG FRIENDS

"Our dear, gallant, splendid Madeline!

The only one of her kind in all the world."
— C. D. Clements

"She was a wonderful character — a spirit
of light and eternal youth."

— Harriet Monroe

"She was the most variously gifted
woman I ever met, and so modest and
genial with it all. Moreover, so good to
look at. Heaven certainly was generous
with her. After so full a life, one cannot
mourn her going." _^^^„ ^^„^^ Cheney
[39]

"I think that to all of us (of a younger
generation) it seemed as if she were perma-
nently young — as if she could never die.'*

— r. J. p.

"She made one feel as if one could ac-
complish almost anything — as if there were
always something new to discover over the
next little hill." _£. c. P., Jr.

"How vivid she was! I do not even
have to close my eyes to see her as I last
saw her — sitting under our pine trees here,
telling in her inimitable way one of her
delightful stories. And whether It was a
story, or some theory or philosophy of life,
her voice and her rich, rare spirit — her
whole gracious personality — made It some-
thing long to be remembered. Perhaps it
was because her whole self went Into every-
thing she said or did." —Lucy Cable Bikle

[40]

"I have so many visions of Mrs. Wynne
in that laurel-lined path. Her lovely head
in relief against the dark leaves was a won-
derful picture. She was always saying such
gay, such witty and original things, and
sometimes so deep and touching! Her
bright gift of joyousness seems to me, just
now, an outstanding charm. How generous
she was with her gifted self — how she over-
looked the failings of others, and encour-
aged the best in them. By the magic of her
touch on every commonplace of life, she
transformed the simplest, homeliest duties
into fairy tales. Her response to all that Is
lovely — the call of the wren, the tint of
the sky, the scent of a rose — showed the
deep poetry of her nature."

— Mary G. Beach
C41]

"But we must not grudge her the escape
from the body, which has been such a pain
to her during these months. That clever,
skilful body, so full of the best things;
and yet, sometimes it seemed too confining
for the splendid possibilities still in store.
Some great, big, new experience is hers,
coming gently, and without shock. I have
had enough talks with her to know how
deeply she felt about eternal things, and to
know how natural will be the step into the

big, new world." _^. g. W. Perkins

" It Is not hard to be wholly glad for her.
With her lovely freshness of outlook, she
will love the next thing."

— Elizabeth Head Gates

[42]

To M. Y. W.

Friends have I had, both gay and grave.

Witty and learned, wistful and proud;
But never a one of all the lave.

In the narrow path where little days crowd.
Never a one, so blithe or so free.

So loving of hearth and friend and kin.
So tender with flower and bird and tree.

As you, my dearest Madeline Wynne.

A golden magic was in your hands.

You wove and you wrought, you painted and
played;
And swift and eager at your commands.

With a new bag o' tricks and quite unafraid.
The jongleurs of Beauty came dancing your way.

To teach you the cunning of play-a-day skill;
And you taught them in turn, ere you sent them
away,

Down the thorn-lined road from your elfin hill.

[43]

Whenever the dawn made a shining lane.

On shining errands you took your way;
Whenever there fell a day of rain.

You used it to curtain your privacy.
You became a gypsy, with cauldron and spell.

In the deeps of the summer s emboscage;
And when the early evenings came.

Transformed the drawing room into a stage.

On you all arts made sisterly claim.

Whether music or painting or poetry;
You worked with forge and hammer and flame,

But best of all was your alchemy —
The alchemy that could transmute

The common friend into something rare.
And in rejected ore confute

The dross, revealing metal fair.

Valiantly on your path you sj

A lover of sweet, untrodden ways;
Maker of friends at will and need.

Rememberer of beautiful days.
Leonardo will bow you in

To the place where the lovely workers be;
Gracious Del Sarto will claim you kin.

And Barbara greet you with lilies three.

E. w. p.

[44]

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